


Safe

by FiveHargreevesNeedsAHug



Series: Family. [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gang Rape, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Number Five | The Boy Gets A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Present Tense, Protective Allison Hargreeves, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Protective Luther Hargreeves, Protective Number Five | The Boy, Protective Vanya Hargreeves, and im sorry five, except five now has ptsd x100, if i go that is lol rip, no beta we die like ben, poor five, this is dark, this is like sometime after season 2 but theres no sparrow academy and everything is back to normal, will i write more of this? i dont know, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveHargreevesNeedsAHug/pseuds/FiveHargreevesNeedsAHug
Summary: Number Five would do ANYTHING to protect his family.orIt's been over six hours. Five was supposed to be getting groceries.
Relationships: Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Family. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178105
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> so uhh, part of this was inspired by a lil headcanon i have that like
> 
> fives inevitable mental breakdown would be caused by like. positive physical contact like a hug or something cos it would be the first time hes felt loved and cared for in YEARS and honestly i just feel like. feeling safe and loved would be enough to break the guy. like. hes been through so damn much please hug him-
> 
> and then because im a horrible fucking person i decided to put him through this awful shit, so uh, now he has even more trauma and suffering?? am sorry five im do this to all the characters i love lmao
> 
> but uhh, im really inconsistent and it took me long enough to make myself write this as it is so i honestly have no idea if it will ever be continued?? but part of me does kinda want to? so maybe i'll write some related oneshots or something idk but five deserves some damn comfort after the shit i just put him through poor boy
> 
> i also just really like the whump trope where whumpee lets themselves get hurt to save someone else and think it REALLY fits five to do something like that so here he is getting brutalised because his family is getting threatened <3

Five cannot breathe. He’s holding his breath, and he doesn’t know why. He counts the seconds, minutes that he’s been doing so, counts down the seconds, minutes until he will lose consciousness from lack of oxygen to his brain. 

He wonders if it would be better that way. If he just passed out, here and now. Would he be able to escape this? Would they notice? Would they prefer it, if he was still and unmoving? Pliant, and silent, instead of squirming and hissing like a feral kitten?

He cannot pass out.

He knows they won’t let him. Knows that if he even tries to escape the situation, his family will be in danger. That they’ll _kill_ his brothers and sisters. He’s doing this for _them_. He’s letting this happen, for _them_. 

He won’t let them get hurt. He _can’t_.

...He can’t.

He doesn’t care what happens to him, what _is_ happening to him.

He has to protect his family. Has to keep them safe.

A hiss escapes his mouth as his head is pressed into the ground, a large, calloused palm pushing on the back of his neck, holding him down, holding him in place. He can feel rocks digging into his cheek, the warm stickiness of his own blood dripping down from the cut on his forehead. 

It hurts. Everything hurts. But he knows that _this_ , _now_ will be _nothing_ compared to what they have planned for him.

He’s not stupid. He _knows_ what these men want, why they targeted _him_ of all people.

He looks like a child. He looks like a boy that’s only just hit puberty. He looks like a _wet dream_ to sick fucks like this, men -can he even call someone this _fucked_ a man?- who get _off_ to the idea of-

“Remember-” There is breath against his neck, hot and wet, he tries to ignore it, close his eyes, block it out.

_He lived forty five years in an apocalypse. He watched his family die before his eyes multiple times. He’s the **best** assassin in the space-time continuum._

He refuses to acknowledge the groping hands, the cold, biting air as he’s left exposed and vulnerable, refuses to feel their eyes burn into him, looking at the parts of him no-one should ever look.

“-You be good for us, you take this like the little slut you are, and we won’t touch your family. Got it? All you gotta do is be good.”

* * *

  
He wants to buck, wants to jerk and thrash and squirm and scream.

He wants to fight back.

He wants to fight back so _badly_ , but the threat of losing his siblings _again_ is enough to force him into submission.

Five says nothing, at first. Lets his breath come out laboured and uneven, lets his hands curl and uncurl from fists, tugging at the ropes that bind his arms together behind his back. His gaze, cold, calculated stares at the ground. “Fuck _you._ ” His voice comes out in a low growl, lips pulling back into a snarl, unable to even so much as _turn_ to look at the man holding him down. He suppresses a whimper as he feels a hand glide up his leg. “You’re sick. You’re fucking _sick_.”

He earns a laugh in response. More hands. There’s so many of them, _too_ many of them.

He can’t do this.

He won’t be able to do this.

_He’s **scared.**_

_There is a sniper on the roof, staring down a barrel trained directly at his sisters head. At Vanya’s head. If he tries anything, they’ll shoot her. He’ll lose his sister. His sister that always_ cared about him, his sister that left him sandwiches, each and _every_ night that he was gone, that left the academy lights on because she _knew_ he was afraid of the dark.

He knows there are more, too. More snipers. Just _waiting_ for him to make a wrong move, to fuck up.

Five _won’t_ fuck up. He _can’t_ fuck up.

All he has to _do_ is stay still. Stay still, and not fight back. 

He can do that, he’s survived worse. He’s survived so much worse. He can survive this. He can-

* * *

His own scream cuts him off, white hot _agony_ , pain, _pain_ worse than he’s ever experienced, piercing him from the inside out, tearing him open, ripping him apart again and again and again. Nausea pools in his stomach, burning his throat, his mouth gaping and open in _horror_ as his mind struggles to process what’s happening. Tries to even _think_.

_He knows **nothing** but this pain. It **hurts**. It **hurts** so fucking much. He wants it to **stop**. Why won’t it **stop?**_

He knows he’s speaking, but he cannot make out any words. Each noise that leaves his mouth is incoherent, incomprehensible, desperate and feral, pleading and begging and hurt and _scared_. He screams until his throat burns, until it’s drowned out by the sound of his own harsh breath, of the sound of skin on skin contact, of grunts and moans -pleasure and pain alike.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. He loses track of time. Can’t tell if it’s been seconds, minutes or hours. Can’t tell if it’s the same man on top of him, pressing him into the ground, fingers branding bruises into his hips and back, or if it’s someone else. One of the others. How many were there again, eleven? Thirteen?

He feels _sick_.

* * *

He tries to imagine Dolores. 

But it's futile because he _knows_ she wouldn’t be like this. He knows she’d be gentle, and soft and kind. That she’d whisper nothing but encouragements into his ears, that her touch wouldn’t burn and scar. That she wouldn’t _hurt_ him. 

_Dolores wouldn’t call him a slut, or a whore. She wouldn’t restrict his movement against his will, force him into position, touch him where he didn’t want to be touched. She wouldn’t make him bleed, or scream, or choke._

He’s glad that he let her go. He’s glad that she’s not here, to see him like this. Weak, and pathetic and vulnerable. That she doesn’t have to witness him be _violated_ , have whatever little scrap of _innocence_ left in him forcibly torn out, leaving him with nothing.

_He’s nothing. He has nothing left. He’s a broken, shattered shell of a person, fighting for his own selfish reasons. His family doesn't **need** him. They wouldn’t even **want** him, not if they could see him now. See him like **this.**_

* * *

  
It’s dark, when it finally ends. 

Five doesn’t even register it, at first. He doesn’t notice the lack of pressure, the lack of movement around him. He doesn’t notice the blood staining the ground, the fact that his arms are _free_ and numb and unbound.

His eyes stare into nothing.

Hoping, that somehow, that nothing will swallow him whole.  
He lies there, unmoving, for approximately twenty minutes. 

He returns to the academy, approximately fifty minutes later.

* * *

  
Unsurprisingly, Vanya is waiting for him at the door. Her head snaps up as he approaches, limp heavy in his step, eyes glazed over and unfocused. “Oh my God, _Five_ , you said you’d be ten minutes, where have you _been?_ ” Her words are white noise to him, and he stares up at her, expression as blank and hollow as his gaze, hands buried deep into the pockets of his shorts.

“Got sidetracked.” His response is short and blunt, lacking his usual bite, although he could _rarely_ bring himself to snap at Vanya to begin with. He can feel her eyes on him as he limps past her, a chorus of gasps and worry and concern as the others lay eyes upon him.

Luther is the first to move, shooting up from the couch so suddenly that it _startles_ Klaus who was sitting beside him. His brother approaches in a near-sprint, concern etched on his face, his hands instantly grappling for Five’s shoulders.

Five recoils as if Luther’s hands have just _scorched_ his skin, curling in on himself, lips pulling back into an animalistic snarl, eyes wide and feverish and feral. “Don’t fucking _touch_ me.” His voice is a hiss, hoarse and scratchy, gaze narrowed into a glare that pierces through all of them. “I got sidetracked, alright? Jeez, I’m gone for a few _hours_ and you all act like I’m _dead_.”

There’s silence, and Five just _seethes_. His hands and body trembling -when did he start trembling?- teeth bared and pressed together, growl in the back of his abused throat. His arms are quick to wrap around his torso in a mock hug, protective and defensive, eyes flicking between each brother -Luther, Diego, Klaus. And each sister. Allison, Vanya- with suspicion and distrust.

He doesn’t know why he’s so angry. He doesn’t even know _where_ the anger came from.

It just burns, blisters and prickles, bubbling beneath his skin.

His siblings say nothing, just stare, exchanging silent looks between them. 

The attention, the burning looks, make him feel afraid. Exposed, scared. He wants to slink away, wants to jump and disappear in a flash of blue, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy or concentration to make such an escape.

So instead, he stands his ground.

Diego, is the first to break the silence. “ _Sidetracked_ , doesn’t explain the _blood_ , Five. Or the limp. You look like someone beat the _shit_ out of you.”

He’s silent, contemplative, before he responds, words dripping with venom. “Since when do _you_ give a shit about what happens to me, Diego?” He wants to disappear. He wants to go to the bathroom, shower and clean and scrub all this dirt away. “I got into a fight. So _what?_ Last time I checked, _you_ showed up last week with a broken nose, _Klaus_ got arrested only two days ago for assault and _Luther_ broke some assholes _leg_ for looking at _Allison_ the wrong way.” 

His leg bounces. He tries to suppress the action, but it only makes his agitation worse.

“Five.” It’s Allison that speaks next, her expression and words are soft, unlike Diego. She looks afraid, almost. As if he’s going to _bite_ her for simply attempting to speak. And honestly? Five is half tempted to sink his teeth into the next person that speaks up. 

He’s done with interrogation. He wants to shower and go to bed. He wants to forget about today, pretend it never happened.

He wants to _die_.

“We’re worried about you.” Allison’s voice cuts off his thoughts, and he glares at her, rocking back on his heels as he tilts his head up, teeth clacking as he audibly _snarls_. Allison swallows, but continues on despite that. “You were gone for over six hours. You turned up, covered in _blood_ , with a limp and _bruises_ all over you, and you don’t expect us to be worried?”

Six hours. 

They’d raped him for _six hours._

The color drains from his face.

“Not to mention, you’re acting _far_ too defensive for someone who went out to fetch groceries. Something _happened_ , we just want to know _what_ , so we can help you.”

The words cut into him like knives and he’s left in a stunned silence, his eyes flicking from concerned face, to concerned face.

They knew. Didn’t they? They knew and they thought he was pathetic, thought he was weak and disgusting and worthless-

His legs give out from beneath him.

He’s caught before he can collapse to the ground, he doesn’t know who’s arms he’s in. But they’re warm and strong and protective, and he’s being pulled up against an equally warm chest. The arms wrap around him tightly, enough to keep him upright, keep him standing, but loose enough so that he doesn’t feel smothered. 

He wants to protest that he’s _fine_ , that he doesn’t _need_ any damn concern. Because he can take care of himself, because he _has_ been taking care of himself for the past forty five plus years.

But the arms are so warm. _He’s_ so warm. And he feels cared for and protected and _safe_. 

He feels safe. 

He's home. 

And he's _safe_. 

Five finally lets himself sob.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is horrible and dark and sad but like,, if yall liked this consider leaving kudos and/or a comment?? it took me two hours to write and ive been hella sad recently and it kinda feels good that i finally wrote it but also like doesnt live up to the standards i made for myself so idek if i actually like it or not?? oop
> 
> but yee i just wanted to write some sad five whump cos i like making him suffer and spend too much time writing him just being an asshole so wanted him to be vulnerable for a change <3
> 
> idk if i'll write more for this, like a follow up or whatever?? but i have a cute au about mr pennycrumb being fives service dog so i might write that at somepoint cos man deserves some comfort too!!! and yknow,, therapy he really needs therapy
> 
> and i also wanna write some asshole five in a fic cos hes really fun to write and as much as i looooove him suffering i do like a good bit of badass moody angsty teen old man five too lmao and also some sibling bonding cos hes so soft for his family i love him so much


End file.
